I'm Not Me Anymore
by Adalanta
Summary: COMPLETE Willow and Giles try to help a nightmare-plagued, emotionally fragile Xander accept the loss of his eye and find his new place in the Scoobies.
1. Part One

I'm Not Me Anymore

By Adalanta

Disclaimer: All of the characters are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and lots of other people I don't know. 

Author's Note: This scene takes place just after the end of the Season 7 episode "Empty Places." I was so mesmerized by Nicholas Brendon's portrayal of a physically and emotionally damaged Xander that I just couldn't help myself. This is my first foray into the "Buffy" realm of fanfiction (I've only seen about five episodes so far), so I'd really appreciate some feedback. Please, take a second to leave a review or you can email me at adalanta14@yahoo.com.

Part One of Two

The nightmares would come again that night – she was sure of it.

Willow Rosenberg sat silently in the darkened room curled up in a chair, watching Xander Harris shift restlessly in an uneasy sleep. Aided by the dim light of the streetlight shining through the mini-blinds, the redhead stared nervously at the lanky form of her best friend, her stomach clenching at the sight of his pale face and the dark circle under his eye.

Eye. Single. 

She swallowed, working at the lump in her throat, as his dark head twisted on the yellow pillow, just enough to show the glaring white monstrosity that covered his empty left eye socket and most of that side of his face. 

A low moan broke the heavy silence and was quickly followed by the barely audible – yet strangely loud – sound of the swooshing of bed sheets as the restless figure turned completely over onto his right side, curling up into a loose fetal position.

_It won't be long now_, she thought sadly, blinking hard to stop the familiar stinging in her eyes. _Stop it, Willow_, she ordered herself angrily. _No crying. He doesn't want to see your tears. It'll only make this worse._

_But, really_, an annoying, insistent voice in her mind added, _how much worse can the situation get?_

_Don't say that!_ she mentally shrieked back. _Don't EVER say that! Things can always be worse, especially when you share residence with the Hellmouth._

She forcefully shoved her worrisome inner conflict aside, turning instead to the more pressing problem at hand – Xander's terrifying nightmares. He'd been in the hospital for four days before he was finally released, and while he had tried to hide it with his typical lame jokes and strange musings, she knew that he felt hurt, lonely…and scared. The doctor had explained that those kinds of feelings were to be expected, that they were normal in cases like his. _Normal. Our lives haven't been normal for the last seven years. _What was surprising, though, was that the nightmare had waited until the third night to rear its ugly, hideous head.

_But, _she reconsidered, tucking the yellow sheet higher up around Xander's shoulders, _maybe that shouldn't be so surprising. After all, those first two days the doctors had him so doped up on painkillers that he could barely recognize me or put two words together when he managed to say anything at all. _She shuddered at the haunting memory of his brown eye staring blankly up at her, glazed and pain-filled. It was a sight she hoped to god she would never see again.

Ever.

The third night of his hospital stay, she'd fallen asleep by his side, his right hand cradled in hers, her head resting by his leg. She'd been so exhausted from the strain of the last few days that she'd slept heavily, only to be awakened by a horrifying, blood-chilling scream and the sight of her best friend struggling violently against some imaginary foe. How long the dream – no, nightmare – had been going on, she had no clue, but he was already covered in sweat and shivering convulsively by the time she'd woken up.

She'd made the unwitting mistake of touching his face, trying to gently wake him up – and had been momentarily paralyzed when he'd flinched away from her hand as if burned, crying out, hoarsely, "No, oh, god, please, don't!" 

His terrified, pleading words would forever haunt her mind.

Obviously, once she'd regained control of her body, she'd realized that a gentle, subtle approach wasn't going to work so she'd grabbed the writhing figure by his upper arms and shaken him hard. His remaining eye had snapped open after a couple of shakes. It seemed like an eternity as she'd waited breathlessly for the brown orb to focus on her as he visibly struggled to free himself from the nightmare's grip.

The scariest thing of all, though, was the fact that he hadn't spoken a single word to her after. He'd just lain in bed for the next three hours staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, like his mind had just…shut down. He'd suffered through another nightmare a few hours later near dawn, but she'd caught that one early, before he'd managed to get quite as upset and scream himself awake.

After the first nightmare, Willow had forced her wrung-out body to stay awake for the rest of the night, and though the vigil had been exhausting, the knowledge that she was protecting Xander in the only way she could gave her all the incentive she'd needed.

Giles had shown up around noon on the fourth day with a large, colorful "Get Well" card from all the girls…and the goal of making her leave Xander to go home and rest. She'd protested – admittedly weakly, but hey, she'd been wiped out – but had been quickly and easily overridden by the Watcher, who'd reassured her repeatedly that he would stay and watch over their wounded friend. Before she'd left, she talked briefly with the older man in the hallway about Xander's nightmares, warning him verbally and pleading with her eyes to watch for them. 

She'd gone home to Buffy's and crashed, sleeping for twelve hours straight. When she'd woken up in the early morning hours, she'd managed to drag her weary body downstairs to the kitchen, making and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in a dazed fog, after which she'd trudged back upstairs and collapsed again for another ten hours or so. Of course, the next time she'd awoke, she'd gone straight back to the hospital, only to meet a disheveled, haggard looking Giles sitting motionless next to an equally motionless Xander, eye closed – apparently asleep. Or so she'd thought. He'd looked up at her as soon as she'd greeted Giles and tried to smile at her, but the warmth – that unique Xanderness – was gone from his smile.

Later on, when she'd gotten Giles alone in the hallway (on the pretense of seeing him out), she'd finally asked him how the night had gone, even though she felt as if she already knew the answer. According to the Watcher, Xander's fourth night had been even worse than his third, and, even though he hadn't gone into any details, she could tell by his weary, lined face and grim, set mouth that that night had been…She mentally floundered, trying to come up with the right word, but her scholar's brain just refused to work anymore.

Another moan – louder, this time – brought her out of her morbid thoughts, and she focused once again on the figure on the bed. She clutched the arms of her chair with bloodless fingers as her best friend curled into a tight ball, tucking his shaggy head down onto his chest, and then bit her lower lip from crying out as he covered his head with both hands and began to shake, huddled up beneath the sheets and comforter. It was hard to believe that the shaking, bandaged figure on the bed was her best friend – that the strong, reliable young man could be reduced to this in such a short time. _He's been through so much these last few years. Why did it have to be him? Why can't he get a break?!_

Xander continued to move about restlessly on the bed, arms alternately trying to push something – _or someone_, she realized bitterly – away and protecting his damaged face. Both motions tore at her heart, the same organ that already lay shredded and bleeding in her chest. The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, however, was listening to his broken pleas and cries. It was too much. She couldn't stand to see him suffer so, not when she could do something about it. Standing up, she leaned over, perching on the side of the bed and touched his shoulder…

Only to be shoved violently away off the edge of the bed by Xander, his eye open but unseeing as he let out a strangled, inarticulate cry.

Willow let out a startled yelp herself as she landed hard on the carpeted floor, her shoulder glancing off the chair she'd been occupying just seconds before.

For a few seconds, the room was held tightly in the fierce grip of stunned silence. Willow froze where she'd fallen, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. 

And Xander…he just looked down at her from above, gasping for air, chest heaving, fear and confusion warring for supremacy on his paper-white face.

She watched, speechless, as the nightmare receded, and the awareness crept back into his face. It was a horrible sight to see. One second he looked down at her in shock, and the next…It was terribly clear when the knowledge of what he'd just done broke through the fog that surrounded his mind.

"Willow?" he whispered, voice breaking on the last syllable. His eye widened, horrified. "Oh my god. No. No no no no no – " He started to tremble violently, shaking his head slowly back and forth in shock, scooting back away from that side of the bed. Then he was off the bed completely, standing unsteadily on his feet as Willow picked herself up off the floor, still too stunned to make a sound.

His eye locked with her and she swore that he went positively gray – the same sickeningly dead color of cold ashes. "Oh, god," he breathed. "I – I – " He bolted for the door, his left shoulder slamming hard into the doorframe, the blow nearly knocking him off his feet, but otherwise not appearing to phase him the slightest.

"Xander, wait!" Willow called, dashing after him, finally getting her vocal cords thawed out and under control. She saw Xander careen into the bathroom down the hall and sprinted towards it, but was too late. The door slammed shut, and she heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking into place even as she reached for the doorknob to go in.

"Xander? Xander, let me in. It's okay. It wasn't your fault, all right? Just let me in," she pleaded through the door.

Silence, then the sick sound of retching answered her.

"Oh, no," she moaned. _The meds are making him sick_, she realized, moaning again as the nauseating sounds continued through the door. "Xander, are you okay?" she called again when the horrible sounds finally stopped a couple of minutes later. "I just want to make sure you're all right. Please, now unlock the door and let me in." She pressed her ear up against the door in an attempt to better hear what was going on inside.

Running water trickling in the sink.

Harsh, gulping breathes.

Silence. Then…

CRASH 

The sound of something breaking…shattering.

"What the – " Willow gasped. The sound came again, and yet a third time, followed closely by the sound of several pieces of – something – hitting the floor…and then a loud **_thump_**. 

She stood there for a second, reality taking a few extra seconds to sink into her sleepy mind. Then it hit her – hard – so hard it sucked all of the air out of her lungs. "Oh, my god, the mirror. He smashed the mirror," she whimpered, scared to death. Visions flew through her mind of her best friend collapsed on the floor bleeding, unconscious, or worse.

"NO!" She attacked the door, frantically clawing, pushing, and pulling with all of her strength to get it open. Pounding on the hard wood, she cried, "Xander, open up! Are you okay? God, please, Xander, open the door! Do you hear me?" she screamed. "OPEN THIS DOOR!" She continued to pound desperately on the door, shouting loudly, oblivious to doors opening, lights being flipped on, and sleep-tousled heads popping out through open doorways. Nothing else mattered to her except getting to her best friend.

So driven and hell-bent on getting in was she that she nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand came down on her shoulder. She twisted her tear-dampened face towards the newcomer, only to find Giles standing behind her, concern shadowing his lined face.

"What happened?" he asked quickly, locking his eyes with hers, hands on both of her trembling shoulders holding her still.

"Xander. He – he w-went inside and – and locked the door," she stammered, her voice bordering on hysterical. "He s-started to throw up – and – then he, he – there was this really loud crash – and glass falling – and I can't hear him any more, the door's locked, I can't get in, he needs help he needs me – "

"Willow, stop it!" Giles gave her a hard shake to stop her babbling.

She blinked up at him, only then feeling the hot tears streaming down her face and tried to pull herself together. "He won't answer me, Giles," she said, calmer now, but still trembling badly. "I – I haven't heard anything since that last crash. No, wait. There was a thump. I heard a thump, like he'd fallen or something. He's hurt, I know he is. Please," she begged, clutching his arm. "We've got to get in there. He needs help. Please."

"Yes, of course, we will," he muttered absently, eyeing the door as if appraising its strength. The older man nodded to himself, and then, once he'd moved Willow safely out of the way, stepped back a few feet and charged, slamming all of his weight against the bathroom door.

The door snapped open. 

Giles and Willow rushed inside.

TBC…

 __


	2. Part Two

I'm Not Me Anymore

By Adalanta

Disclaimer: See Part One.

Author's Note: Yay! It's finished! This story turned out a little longer than I expected but I just couldn't trim it down. Anyway, please, please, please let me know what you think by leaving a review or emailing me personally at adalanta14@yahoo.com. I had a great time writing this, and I sincerely hope you enjoy reading it. 

Part Two of Two

The first thing Willow noticed was the remains of the shattered mirror on the wall and the pieces scattered all over the sink and the surrounding floor.

The second was the blood.

Blood on the shattered mirror.

Blood on the sink.

Blood on the floor, leaving a dark crimson trail to the corner of the bathroom.

And blood on Xander Harris, huddled in that very same corner, curled into a tight ball, his knees bent to his chest, his bloody hand wrapped around his knees, his pajamas spotted and streaked with blood. 

"Oh, Xander," Willow cried, quickly stepping towards the trembling figure with Giles right beside her. Kneeling down in front of him, she hesitated and then reached out and touched his shoulder, seeing Giles grab the nearest towel and turn on the water faucet out of the corner of her eye. When she saw that he didn't react violently to her touch, she, too, slid down against the wall to his right and scooted over, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, ignoring his red stained clothes and bloody hand, so thankful that he was still alive. She hugged him close as the Watcher gently but firmly pried his injured, bloody hand away from around his knees.

The room was silent as Giles examined Xander's hand for any embedded glass, and then finding none, he carefully wrapped it up in a damp hand towel. No one said a word, even after Giles was done. Willow didn't know what to say or how to start (which was really something) and a quick glance at Giles showed that he, too, was equally lost for words. 

None of that really mattered, though, because neither Willow nor Giles was the one who ultimately broke the silence.

"How," Xander asked, voice low and strained, "can you stand to look at me after what I did?"

Willow shook her head despite the fact that his eye was closed, and he couldn't see her. "It was an accident, Xander," she said quickly, catching Giles confused frown and ignoring it. "That's all it was – an accident. It wasn't your fault." Her gaze shifted to Giles, meeting his questioning look with an I'll-tell-you-later-and-not-now look of her own. _He doesn't need to know, _she said mentally, trying to justify her response. _It'll only make Xan more upset._

But she'd underestimated just how upset her best friend already was.

"That doesn't matter," he rasped, abruptly pulling away from her, eye now open. 

Though he didn't hurt her physically, his reaction – his rejection – stung mentally. She tried to put her arm back around him, but he shied away from her touch like she was a stranger.

"It doesn't matter. I still did it. I – I hurt you, Willow. I…I – " Before he was finished with what he was trying to say, Xander scrambled over the tile floor towards the toilet, lurching drunkenly. 

She closed her eyes for a second, wincing in sympathy as he began to vomit noisily into the porcelain bowl once again, and then stepped over to his side, rubbing his back gently, soothing him as his entire body continued to spasm from the god-awful heaving. His stomach must've had little-to-nothing left in it because dry heaves were soon shaking his tall frame painfully.

The redhead stood powerlessly next to him, rubbing his back, and then leading him away from the shattered glass when he'd finally finished and nearly collapsed down onto the cold tile. As soon as she helped back him into the corner, he dropped down onto the floor, covered in sweat, his face a sickly grayish-white. "Shhh, it's okay. It's okay. You'll feel better soon. Everything's going to be okay," she soothed, carefully wiping his face with the damp washcloth that Giles had thoughtfully handed her.

"No," he spat bitterly, anger briefly flashing over his face. "No, it won't be okay. This – " he pointed to the bandaged left side of his face with his left hand. "This will never be okay. It's…it's never going to get better, Will." 

Her eyes stinging with fresh tears at the sound of his raw, defeated tone, the young woman locked gazes with Giles, at a loss of how to respond to the painful, oh-so-true statement. She opened her mouth to say something – anything – to break the heavy silence, but Giles shook his head slightly at her, and she closed it without making a sound. 

__

What is he doing? she wondered as the silence dragged on and on. And then the truth hit her like a D on an exam.

Xander desperately needed a release.

To talk about what had happened. To pour out his thoughts and feelings. To face reality and accept how changed he was and how his life would now be.

He needed to deal with the loss of his eye and the events surrounding that horrible moment in time.

"Ya know," he said, trying to lighten the oppressive atmosphere with in fake, upbeat tone…and utterly failing. "They say you never really appreciate something until it's gone. I can now officially confirm that that is totally and completely, one-hundred percent true." He finally opened his remaining eye, turning his head to the right so he could look at her directly and not out of the corner of his eye. "There's a reason people are born with two eyes, Will. Not one. Two. As in, pair. As in, more than one and less than three. Two's perfect – the right number. You…I just can't, can't – " His voice broke off, and he blinked hard. 

Raising his right hand, he hissed in pain and looked down at the bloody bandage that enshrouded it. And then he laughed – a terrible, humorless sound that was a hideous mockery of his usual laughter.

Chills ran up and down Willow's spine. She remained still, gaze riveted to his strained face.

"As if I don't have enough problems," he remarked, fake-laughing again. "A bruised shoulder, a rebellious stomach, a blinding headache – huh. Blinding, get it?" A disturbing smile flitted across his face. "Now I've managed to make hamburger out of my fist and no one's got the grill fired up and ready. Hmmm. Maybe with a little more luck, I could lose this one, too, right Will? Then we could check out that two-for-one special at the hospital like you said earlier."

Willow was horrified, shocked to her very soul by his cavalier words. "Xander…" she choked out but Giles cut her off.

"What happened to your fist, Xander?" the older man asked quietly, speaking up for the first time since entering the bathroom.

Xander raised his gaze from his hand and looked over at the Watcher, staring at him for a minute as if he'd only just realized that he was there, sitting off to his right a couple of feet away. He appeared to think and then replied, "Would you believe the mirror attacked me?"

"No. I wouldn't," Giles responded calmly, apparently unfazed.

"Huh. Well, can't say I didn't try."

Silence. 

Willow watched as her dark haired friend averted his gaze, staring back down at his mangled right hand cradled gently in his left. He looked…lost…and so lonely. She longed to gather him in her arms and never let go, to make all the scars just…go away…disappear into thin air like they had never existed.

But she couldn't.

No one could.

The painful, damaging events could not be undone, no matter how badly she wanted them to be.

She didn't expect Xander to answer Giles, and so she was startled when, after a long pause, he took a deep breath and began to speak hesitantly, still mesmerized by his hand.

"I…I went to the sink…I'd just finished puking and wanted – wanted to rinse my mouth. I turned on the water and cleaned up, and then I …I looked up – at the mirror." He stopped, swallowing convulsively. "There was this…person…stranger – looking back at me. And for a split second, I couldn't figure out how someone had gotten into the bathroom. I'd locked the door. No one should have been in there. And then I – " his voice caught. When it restarted, it was thick with tears. He raised his head and stared blankly before him at the closed bathroom door.

"That person…that stranger in the mirror?…That was me." He turned towards Giles and Willow, his face twisted in disbelief and horror, his dark eye filled with pain and denial. Tears streamed down the right side of his face. "It was me. But it wasn't me. Don't you get it?" he began to sob. "I'm not me anymore! I'll never be me again! That's not me! Oh, god, please, that's not me! That – that c-can't be m-me!" He broke down into heart wrenching, racking sobs that echoed loudly about the small, enclosed room.

Willow reached out and took him into her arms, holding him tightly, feeling as if she was the only thing holding him together. Tears fell from her own eyes unheeded as he laid his head on her chest and sobbed, crying for his eye, crying for all that had been taken from him – his sight, his health, his independence, his spirit, his occupation. Everything. It had all been violently ripped away from him in the span of a few short, torturous seconds.

"Why?" Xander sobbed brokenly. "Why didn't he kill me? He killed the others. Why didn't he kill me? He – he could have snapped my neck in an instant. So why did he…he…oh, god." He shuddered in her arms. "Every time I close my eye, I see him, feel his hand holding me, see his – see his thumb coming t-towards my face, my eye." 

Resting her cheek on the top of his head, she allowed her eyes to close and gently rocked him back and forth like a mother comforting her child after a scary nightmare. _If only this was a nightmare, _she thought sadly. _If only we could wake up and find that this whole hideous mess had never happened. If only – if only…_

How long they stayed like that, she didn't know. Xander's hot tears soaked through the front of her shirt and still he continued to cry, like a water faucet that was unable to be turned off. _And why should it?_ she thought. _Xander has enough anger, fear, and uncertainty inside him for at least three people, if not more. So many things have gone wrong in his life – his drunken, abusive father, his not-a-wedding to Anya, and now this, the worst of them all – the loss of his eye. How much more can he take?_

After a while, the tears finally slowed and then stopped, but her Xander-shaped friend remained in her arms, leaning wearily against her, head bowed, tiny shudders rippling through his frame every few minutes. 

"What good am I now?" asked the young man in a defeated voice.

Willow blinked, not certain she'd heard his muffled words correctly, glancing a couple of feet away at a wet-eyed – and clearly stunned – Giles. She automatically let go of her friend when he moved to pull away from her arms.

"I never did have any special powers or abilities, not like everybody else," he continued bitterly. "Nope, I was just good ol' goofy Xander, good for a laugh and great at fetching donuts, but other than that, just…pretty useless."

"No! Xander, you know that's not tr– "

He kept on going like she hadn't said a word, like he didn't even hear her. "And now? Look at me. Half-blind. Helpless. Disabled. I can't even walk without running into things!" The brown eye snapped open, overflowing with bitterness. "Look at me, Will. Take a good, close look at the person you see before you." He shook his head and laughed that harsh, chilling laugh once more. "I wasn't much before, and now I'm even less. How is that even possible? How can you be less than nothing? Look that up in one of your books, G-man, and you'll see a picture of me staring – okay, half staring – right up at you from the page. I was worthless before and now, well – I'm worse than worthless. I'm a drain. A drain on our resources. You're gonna have to leave people behind to watch out for poor one-eyed Xander, to keep him safe. And that will mean more danger, more risk for the rest of you." He took a deep breath and ground out the last few words in a voice so filled with self-loathing and hatred that any one of his friends would have been hard-pressed to identify it as his own. "The Xander Harris you knew never made it out of the wine cellar. You'll never see him again. Caleb killed him."

Silence. Again.

Then – "Alexander Harris, that is the most ignorant, most idiotic, and most selfish statement that I have EVER heard in my entire lifetime, and that is quite a feat!" The clipped, angry, British accented words echoed loudly about the tiled room, bouncing like ping-pong balls on speed.

Xander stared at the Watcher, wide-eyed, his mouth gaping at the utter ferocity that had burst from the normally calm and reserved Englishman.

"You really don't understand how special – how important – you are, do you?" Giles snapped, eyes flashing, daring the younger man to challenge him. "You were the first person, other than myself, to find out Buffy's secret seven years ago, and what did you do? Instead of running away frightened or denying the entire situation like any other normal teenager would, you went to her side and offered your help. You made a difficult and dangerous choice, one that very few, if any, are ever forced to make. And every single day and night since, you've made that same choice to stay and fight this seemingly hopeless and never-ending battle." He paused and the anger in his eyes morphed into sincerity. "Buffy would never have survived without you, Xander. You know that."

The injured man flinched as if he'd been physically slapped. "Yeah. Great point, Giles," he said sarcastically. "You just left out one tiny, little detail. Last night I helped kick her out of her own house. That's a rare kind of dedication, G-man. One in a million."

Giles blinked, clearly taken aback by the painful reminder of events only a few hours passed. "Ah. Yes. Well…" He took off his glasses and concentrated on cleaning them as he sought for an answer. "Sometimes being a friend is knowing when to intervene on that friend's behalf, whether she appreciates it or not," he answered slowly, carefully. "I will not pretend that what happened earlier this evening was easy, but it was done for a reason – to keep Buffy – and the rest of us – alive and to give us a chance to create a better plan. I'm sorry that it turned out the way it did, but I fear it was unavoidable." 

Willow swallowed as Giles looked first at Xander and then at herself, feeling the terrible, guilty burden she'd held inside from her words to Buffy ease slightly as their eyes made contact, speaking without words. Truthfully, she'd been playing and replaying those few minutes over and over in her mind all evening, wondering if she'd made a mistake, wondering if she could have changed her words so they would have hurt less, wondering if Buffy would ever understand why they had objected in the first place. Would she find it in her heart to forgive them? Or was it more for them to forgive her? 

"Anyway," Giles turned to focus on Xander, "in my opinion, the situation with Buffy last night only proved how devoted you are to her and to this cause."

"And now we're right back where this whole conversation started," Xander added, shaking his head. "What does a one-eyed man have to offer to a fighting group like this? It's not like I can help train any of the other potentials, now can I? I'm not going to be a lot of help in battle, either, not with this gigantic blind spot off to my left. I'm just as likely to hurt one of us by accident than I am to hit one of the bad guys! Face it, Giles. I'm not good for anything anymore."

"You're wrong, Xander. Well, perhaps not about the fighting aspect," he admitted reluctantly. "But you have so much more to offer than you realize. You have a vast, working knowledge of vampires, zombies, demons, and all of the other supernatural forces we've dealt with over the last several years. You know what they do, how they act, and, more importantly, how to defeat them in battle, and while you may not be able to fight like you could before, you can still pass that knowledge on to the others and prepare them for what to expect."

Xander snorted in disbelief. "What? You want me to be like, some sort of Watcher or something? Are you crazy?! You've got to be freakin' nuts!" He stopped and narrowed his eye, cocking his head to the side, all the while examining Giles intently. "I think you've taken one too many blows to the head, G-man. Something's loose upstairs."

"I am being completely and utterly serious here, Xander, and I would appreciate it if you would do me the courtesy of acting that way as well," Giles said sternly, disapproval darkening his expression.

If the situation hadn't been so grave, Willow would have laughed at the familiar sight of her best friend squirming under Giles' heavy gaze.

"I just…" he shrugged, absently picking the edge of one of the floor's tiles. "I mean, c'mon…who's going to listen to me? You know, Xander the goofball, He-Who-Jokes-In-The-Face-Of-Evil – this ringing any bells? Why would any of the girls listen to what comes out of my mouth?" 

"Believe it or not, Xander, you have more than earned their respect. Your selflessness, devotion, and bravery are an inspiration to all of these girls. And why not? You have more experience than all of them combined, even with Faith added into the equation." 

Giles paused, placing his glasses back on, and shifted, obviously unaccustomed to sitting on such a hard surface – and just as obviously stalling for more time to choose his next words. "Xander, I…I would not presume to tell you that I understand what you are now going through. I never could, and I pray to God that neither I nor anyone else will ever have to face a similar situation. And back to your earlier words, I agree with you when you said that 'the old Xander Harris will never be seen again.' It's the truth. The man who came out of that wine cellar was not the same man who'd entered it. Your physical appearance had changed, your life drastically and permanently altered. The old Xander is gone…but the new Xander remains. The rest of us have already accepted him. I suppose the real question here is this: Can you accept him? And with that question comes two other equally important ones: Can you accept the loss of your eye? And can you accept your new position with us?" He shook his head, his eyes glistening suspiciously as he continued with a voice choked with emotion. "We are your family, perhaps not through bloodlines, but by spilt blood, and nothing will ever change that. You will always have a place here with us in this home…and in our hearts."

Willow held her breath, heart thudding painfully in her chest, waiting for Xander's response. She watched as he sat motionless, his one eye staring blankly at the floor, so deep in thought that the rest of the world could have disappeared without him ever noticing. Emotions flitted across his face so quickly she was unable to identify them but felt that she already understood the battle being waged inside her friend's mind. For his entire life, the word 'family' had been synonymous with pain, fear, and rejection, a lesson he'd been harshly taught even before they'd first met in pre-school. A flash of hatred rushed through her veins, so intense that she literally saw red. Consumed with righteous fury, she silently cursed and damned his parents to the lowest pit of Hell for all the damage they'd done to their only child. He had so much to overcome, so many physical and emotional scars to see past.

Slowly, her vision cleared, though she was forced to take several deep breaths to completely regain control of her emotions. She focused on the injured, huddled young man beside her. _You can do this, Xan,_ she urged mentally. _The truth is right there in front of you. All you need to do is believe and accept it. This family isn't like your old one; they love and respect you. _

We need you.

I need you.

When the words finally came, they were soft and slightly hesitant, brimming with emotion. "I…wow…I don't – don't know what to say." He inhaled deeply, slowly releasing the air, and then raised his head, looking the older man straight in the eye. "It's not going to happen overnight. This…it's going to take me some time to truly believe everything that you've said. But I'll try. Is that good enough for now?"

Before Giles could say a word, Willow scooted over and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly, so filled with joy at his answer that she was unable to speak. "I guess that's a yes," Xander laughed in surprise over her shoulder, his pale face lighting up with his first real smile in days. Then, he brought his arms up around her and hugged her back, squeezing her tightly like he always had. 

She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of holding her best friend, feeling safe, secure, and loved in his embrace, and knowing that he felt those exact same emotions from her. _There's nothing in the world so right as a Xander-hug, _she thought happily. _Just perfect, and oh-so-comfy. Like chocolate-covered cherry ice cream and _Pretty Woman_ after a horrible day. _ With one last squeeze she pulled back and tenderly brushed back several strands of his thick, dark hair; looking into his eye she saw a spark of the Old Xander there…but also the achingly familiar sight of pain. "Xan, what's wrong?" she asked softly, touching his cheek.

His eye closed as he leaned his head back against the wall and sighed. "You know that pesky, mean little man that's been banging away in my head with a sledgehammer for the last few days?"

"He's back?"

"Oh, yeah."

Willow grimaced in sympathy. Xander had been plagued with excruciatingly painful headaches (she would have said 'blinding' but definitely shied away from that word) ever since the attack. "Well, how about we get you back to bed, hm? I'll get you a drink and one of your pain pills and then get you all settled in for the rest of the night…um, morning…whatever."

"I whole-heartedly agree with Willow's suggestion. This floor is not conducive to sitting," Giles remarked wryly, stiffly getting to his feet, careful to avoid the mirror shards on the floor. 

"Okay." The young man started to climb to his feet, made it about halfway, and then suddenly collapsed onto the floor with a loud groan. "Oh, man, that hurts!" he moaned, grasping his head with both hands and then hissing in pain from touching his bandaged right hand. "This is crazy. How about I just sleep in here? All you'd have to do is bring me a pillow, a couple of blankets, and a couple dozen hot water bottles to keep me warm."

Willow and Giles looked at him in disbelief. 

"Or maybe not," he added meekly. "All right, all right. Fine. Back to the bedroom. But I think I'm going to need a little more help here, guys."

With Giles grabbing Xander's uninjured left hand and Willow pulling under his right arm, the unlikely pair managed to get the weak man to his feet and to the door, dodging the sharp remnants of the mirror to keep from slicing their bare feet. "Okay. I'm okay. You can let go now, people. I think I can get the door open on my own." Willow backed off at Giles' approving nod and allowed her friend to turn the doorknob.

"Xander!" Dawn squealed, launching herself into his arms, almost knocking him back into the bathroom, apparently waiting right outside the door for it to open. She would have succeeded in bowling him over if Giles and Willow wouldn't have been right beside him to steady him. "One of the girls woke me up and said that she thought you might be sick, and then I heard Willow yelling – " she halted mid-sentence, finally catching sight of Xander's wrapped hand. "What happened to your hand?" She looked up at him with large eyes filled with worry.

"I, uh…um…" he stammered uneasily. "You see, I…well…um…I had a slight depth perception problem," he finished shrugging.

The teen frowned slightly at his feeble explanation. "Oh. Okay. Do you need any help taking care of it? I mean, I could – "

"No!" The dark haired young man nearly shouted, panic flashing across his face, much to Willow's amusement. "No. It's fine, Dawn. A couple of Band-Aids, and I'll be all set. Thanks for the offer, but Willow already said she'd take care of it." 

"Are you sure?"

Xander gave her a wan, strained smile, "Yeah. I'll be fine." He managed to take a couple of wobbly steps down the hall before his face paled into another, scarier shade of white. Moaning aloud, he slumped weakly against the wall, clutching his head in pain.

"Xander – "

"Dawn," Willow interrupted firmly, slipping an arm around her friend's waist to hold him up. "Could you go downstairs and bring up a couple of cookies and a really large glass of orange juice? It's time for Xander to take his pain medication, and he needs to eat something when he takes his pill. Don't want him to get sick on us, do we?" _Again, _she added mentally.

"Sure, I'll be right back." Dawn rushed down the stairs, eager to help her friend/surrogate older brother.

"Thanks, Will," Xander mumbled, leaning heavily on Willow's shoulder as they walked the last few feet to his room. 

"You should have said something earlier, Xan," she admonished lightly, helping him into bed and propping his back up against the headboard. Once she'd pulled the covers up to his waist, she sank down on the mattress by his right side and sighed. "You need to take your pills before the headaches get too bad. The doctors said – "

"Please, Will," he broke in, wincing, and was forced to close his eye before continuing with a voice rough with pain. "Don't quote the doctors to me. I'm tired of hearing it."

"I'm sorry, Xan," she apologized, stroking his hair back, guilt rushing through her. "I didn't mean to get you upset. It's just…you really scared me tonight. Your nightmare, locking me out, the mirror, and now this. I'm scared and – and frustrated…and I don't know how to handle that. You're my best, closest friend. You're a part of me, and if something ever happened to you…" The pain she felt inside overwhelmed her and stole her voice. Blinking quickly, she swallowed hard, working at the large lump in her throat. "I hate to see you in so much pain. It hurts, Xander…like it's happening to me."

"Sympathy pains?" he spoke softly, slowly, one corner of his mouth turning up. "I thought that only happened to pregnant women."

"Hey!" She lowered her voice when he winced. "Harris, are you accusing me of being pregnant?" 

"Rosenberg, that thought never crossed my mind."

She had to smile at that – a damp, bittersweet smile – but a smile nonetheless. Reaching over to the small table next to the bed, she grabbed his medicine bottle and removed one huge, orange pill from the container. "Well, once Dawn gets here with your juice – " She cut herself off as the young Summers in question came through the doorway, a large glass in one hand and a pack of Twinkies in the other. 

"Sorry it took so long. I had to mix up the orange juice because someone finished the last batch and didn't make another one. And then we were all out of cookies but I thought I remembered seeing you stash a box of Twinkies behind the fridge…" she shrugged sheepishly. "I may be young but I'm not stupid. You're not the only one who knows where to hide snacks in this house," she told Xander proudly, smiling broadly. "Anyway, you're in luck. Your stash has survived the invasion."

Xander's heavy eyelid lifted, revealing a foggy, unfocused brown orb as he struggled to raise his head from its' resting place on the headboard. He reached for the glass that Dawn held out…but his hand only grasped thin air; jaw clenching in frustration, he tried again, a little farther to the left this time, and made contact. 

The process was so painful to watch that Willow nearly turned away, but through determination and darn-right stubbornness, she managed to keep her head still. Silence settled over the room as the injured young man swallowed his pill and finished up his orange juice and the yellow, fluffy, sugary snack. Dawn took the glass without a word, went to leave, but then turned back and gave her friend an impromptu hug.

"Hey," he whispered over her shoulder. "What's that for?"

"Nothing," she whispered back. "I just felt like hugging my Xander-shaped friend. I'm not allowed to do that anymore?"

"Dawnie, you can hug me anytime you want…just not in the shower."

Dawn pulled back at that and glanced over at the red-haired young woman on the other side of the mattress. "Do you want to hit him or should I?" she asked in a threatening tone.

"Hmmm, that is so tempting. But as much as I'd like to after that little comment, I think we'd better wait a few more days until we can really hit him – and plus, he'll be in suspense, waiting nervously for that moment of revenge to come."

"You two are cruel."

"Thank you," they answered simultaneously and then laughed. With a mock groan of despair, Xander shuffled down until he was flat on his back and tried to ignore them. "Okay, Dawn. I think that's enough for now. I need to fix up his hand before he falls asleep on me."

"Kay. Night, Willow. Night, Xander," she called as she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"Well," Willow turned back to Xander. "Now that that pill's had a few minutes to work its magic, I think it's time I got your hand fixed up, huh?" She leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled out the large, industrial size First Aid kit from under the bed. 

Xander's eye widened in surprise as she popped back up holding the large red-cross covered box. "Oh, man. You know it's bad when they keep that in your room." He nodded towards the kit.

"Yeah, well, you do tend to attract more than your fair share of injuries," she chided with a tiny smile as she removed a bottle of antiseptic and several bandages of different sizes.

"Yep, that's me. A Xander-shaped trouble magnet."

Carefully, she peeled off the damp, bloody towel from his hand, flinching as she saw the extent of the deep cuts and numerous gashes that marred the appendage. "Oh, Xander," she moaned, stomach made queasy by the sight. "How many times have I told you not to punch mirrors?"

"Hmmm. I seem to remember you warning me away from coffee mugs, drinking glasses, windows, and even a door once, but mirrors?" His breath caught in his throat as she cleaned out a particularly nasty three-inch cut that ran the length of his ring finger. "I think you missed that one, Will. Besides, what are you afraid of – that I'll get seven years bad luck? Cause I gotta tell you, I'm thinkin' I've already used up my bad luck allowance for the rest of my life. I mean, how much worse can it get?"

Her head jerked up at that, an eerie echo of her thoughts from earlier that evening, and her blood froze in her veins. "Don't say that, Xan. Don't ever say that. Not here. Not now."

He must have read the fear in her eyes because suddenly he was fumbling for her hand awkwardly with his left one. "Sorry, Willow. You know how my mouth runs off before my brain can catch up. I didn't mean it. Really."

Nodding, she returned to her task, cleaning his cuts one by one as gently as possible and then carefully bandaging them. _How many times have I done this?_ she wondered to herself. _How many times have I sat at his side and cleaned his cuts or put ice on his bruises? I…I can't remember. I don't know what's worse – that I can't remember or that I don't want to._ Consumed by her thoughts, past images of a hurt and/or bloodied Xander Harris flashed through her mind, a series of disturbing, frightening images creating a ghastly parade that tromped through her mind. She fought, wrestling with her memory for control of her mind, a desperate battle that she fought with every ounce of her spirit and soul. It raged on and on, seemingly hopeless, but slowly, steadily, the tide of battle changed in her favor, and at last, she won. 

It was only after the battle was over that she realized she had finished with Xander's hand and that he lay quietly on the bed, breathing peacefully, apparently asleep. She studied his pale, bandaged face for a moment, thinking about the young man who'd been her best friend for almost as far back as she could recall. The four-year-old boy who'd befriended her, a shy, red-haired little girl amongst all of the other children in their pre-school. The ten-year-old who'd snuck into her bedroom late at night to avoid his abusive father. The sixteen-year-old who'd fought bravely next to Buffy against vampires and demons. The confident nineteen-year-old construction worker who'd taken the time to drop by on his lunch break just to see how she was doing in her college classes, when he could just as easily have called and saved himself the trip. And now, the twenty-two-year-old man who'd risked his life once again to save someone else, just as he had countless times before. 

__

I've always known you were special, Xander Harris, she thought lovingly_. But even I wouldn't have dreamed what a difference you'd make in so many lives._

With one last, tender look, she stood up, ready to take up her post in the chair next to his bed, to protect him from the vicious nightmares lurking just out of sight, waiting to catch her off-guard and terrorize him in his sleep. 

"Willow?" Xander's voice, sleepy and slightly slurred from his pain medication, caused her to stop halfway off the bed. "Don'…don't go. Stay…with me. Please?"

Her heart lurched in her chest at the words, at the innocent, almost childlike way in which they were spoken. Without a word, she scooted over to his right side and cuddled up next to him, their heads only a few inches apart – sharing the same pillow, just like they had so many years ago. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the comfortingly familiar yet unique scent that was Xander – her best friend…the other half of her heart. 

Just before she dropped off to sleep, she heard him whisper faintly, "Love you, Will."

"Love you, too, Xander," she whispered back, and then went to sleep, safe and secure by her friend's side.

THE END


End file.
